


Your Dreams Will (Not) Come True

by Eloquent Liar (blink365)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Physical Disability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 00:59:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8266912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blink365/pseuds/Eloquent%20Liar
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov has three faces. The first is stoic yet kind, the face you see on the news during an interview. The second is flirtatious, charming, for his fans and close friends. The third is reserved for the metaphorical demon eating him alive that he fights every day. He isn’t winning.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I admit I was a bit self indulgent, but what can I say? Think of it as my early, angsty contribution to the Y!!OI fandom. This is dedicated to my friends who told me not to write this when I told them I had an idea. I love you too, guys.
> 
> Obviously canon divergent, since we only have one episode out so far.
> 
> Hit me up on my tumblr, EloquentlyLying!

 

**** Viktor Nikiforov has three faces.

The first is calm and collected, what he shows on the ice and in the papers.  _ People don’t trust a playboy, _ his coach had said once, which made a lot more sense than anything else his coach had ever said that didn’t pertain to figure skating, and so Viktor’s public persona was built around serenity and chivalry.

What he shows his fans, however, is a different story. Women love him, men want to  _ be _ him, the smiling star who knows how to charm an audience, both on and off the ice. It’s the Viktor he  _ wants _ to be, the one who’s easy to approach and easier to talk to.

It’s not the one he actually is.

His third face is the one that he never lets anybody but Makkachin see. It’s the face he doesn’t want to admit he has, but he has no choice but to wear it. A face of pain and suffering and  _ three months left, there’s no way you’ll be able to coach, much less compete in another full season. _ It’s a face he won’t be able to see in less than a year, a face he wants to kill.

He doesn’t really think it matters, in the end.

* * *

 

It’s not until he can barely see the other side of the rink that Viktor calls out to his students from his spot, leaning against the railing inside the team box usually reserved for the hockey team that frequents the rink. “Practice is over.” Yuri and Yuuri are both surprised, which isn’t surprising since he’s cutting practice by half an hour- something  _ unheard of _ from the usually hardass of a coach. Yuri glides to a stop neatly next to the railing, while Yuuri gives Viktor a startled look for all of three seconds before slipping and falling face first on the ice. Viktor laughs, but it’s all for sure. He’s sure Yuuri can tell, considering he’s been able to read him like a book ever since they first met at Yu-topia, but doesn’t let the Japanese boy catch on, instead turning to walk away with a wave of his hand. “We’ll pick this back up this evening.”

There’s a distinct snort from Yuri, followed by the telltale sound of blades carving ice; his work ethic has gotten better, Viktor realizes as he hears Yuri keep practicing. However, Yuuri climbs to his feet and almost immediately steps off the rink, and Viktor freezes.

He knows that Yuuri is going to chase him, and  _ god _ does Viktor hate chases.

He tries to lock himself in the men’s locker room, giving himself a couple moments of reprieve, believing himself safe from Yuuri’s innocently incessant worrying. He doesn’t want anybody seeing him like this, much less the one boy he’s using as a coping mechanism. He manages a few long breaths, trying to regain both his nerves and his sight, but is cut off by the sound of keys jangling inside the lock.

Of course. This is Yuuri’s old rink, the owner is his  _ best friend, _ he would know where she hides the keys. He grumbles slightly, wiping tears away on the back of his hand, but is too tired to run anymore - and where would he go anyways? The showers? Yuuri is stubborn, he would undoubtedly wait until he gets out to ambush him, and nudity barely fazes the kid anymore, anyways. Out the window? Viktor is stupid, but not suicidal; they’re two stories up, there’s nowhere to go but up to the roof or down to the compacted ice below.

Instead, he sits there and waits for the inevitable. The lock clicks open quietly, and the door creaks open with barely a whisper of Viktor’s name coming from Yuuri’s lips.

He doesn’t try to wipe away the tears this time.

* * *

 

He had been jealous of Yuri once, back when he believed in the Russian Fairy that lived on the ice. After skating with him, most of that envy had disappeared, but it still boiled under the surface sometimes. Maybe it was because Yuri could be so carefree with his masks, he wasn’t quite sure. But either way, watching the grace on the ice turn into unbridled teen angst was something he wished he could emulate.

He wonders, sometimes, what Yuri would do if he was the one in Viktor’s shoes. Deny it, probably, still keep skating even through blindness. Viktor wishes he had Yuri’s unwavering tenacity- or perhaps it’s just teenage rebellion, but it’s better than the resignation that Viktor’s already replace his determination with.

_ Maybe if he was Yuri..... _ he tries to stop the thought there.

* * *

 

It doesn’t quite work.

It’s the face that he has never shown anybody- not his coach, not his rinkmates, not  _ Yuuri. _ It’s the face that shows weakness and anger and pain and resentment and everything that he had ever seen in another’s face but never his own. He looks down, hoping his hair obscures his eyes but knowing that he can’t hide the tear tracks shining on his cheeks.

“Viktor......”

Yuuri sees that face now, and Viktor is ashamed. “Go away, Yuuri. I need to be alone.”

Yuuri has always been weak, and Viktor’s sure he’ll listen to him now- but he’s surprised when the other refuses. “No, Viktor. Tell me what’s going on.” He looks up, almost cringes at the way he can’t see the brown eyes behind blue frames, and looks back down.

“....macular degeneration. Too far gone. I’ve got one, maybe two months before I can’t see the ice anymore.” Everything comes out in one breath, as if he’s afraid it’ll be more true if he speaks any more on the matter. Saying it so fast doesn’t make it any  _ less _ true, but it does elicit a sharp inhale from Yuuri. He probably realized it, Viktor figures, that he was nothing but a pity coach from somebody desperate to leave a legacy before he was unable to skate at all. He’ll walk away, tell the press everything, and Viktor will go from a champion to a fallen hero.

But once again, Yuuri manages to betray his expectations. “Why did you tell me? Does Yuri-san know? Why are you still  _ here?” _ Three questions, all of which Viktor knows the answers to, but doesn’t want to say them. He sits in silence, trying to wrap his head around the fact that Yuuri Katsuki, the fanboy whose idol had all but used him, was still standing there, not looking at him with pity, but with worry.

It would make him sick if he isn’t already sick at himself.

_ I told you because you have a right to know when you’re being used. Yuri doesn’t know because I blindly trust you more than him. _ Those are the answers to the first two questions, but nothing comes out when he tries to voice him. Instead, he takes another shaky breath and says what he’s wanted to tell his doctors, what he’s told Makkachin, what he’s been too afraid to say to any other human being, himself included.

“I still want to skate.”

* * *

 

He still  _ is _ jealous of Yuuri. He’s innocent, naive, pours his heart and soul into the ice rink as if he has nothing to hide. He doesn’t, really, and maybe that just makes it worse. Viktor wants to break that naivete as much as he wants to protect it, wants to force a mask over Yuuri’s dance just as much as he wants to nurture one of the most naturally gifted skaters he’s ever met. It's the dichotomy between the contempt he feels and the charisma he shows, and it probably hurts him more than it does Yuuri.

It almost makes him sick, the roiling of emotions under his skin. As much as he loathes to admit it, maybe it was better back when he saw the angel-faced innocence and it filled him with scorn, rather than the shivering guilt that he feels now. Getting to know Yuuri was a bad idea, because his emotions are already torn, and he doesn’t need the extra pounds of guilt weighing on his shoulders like physical burdens.

It really doesn’t help how attached he’s grown to the boy he’s been using as a scapegoat for all of his problems.

* * *

 

Yuuri’s the one who convinces him to go on the ice one last time-  _ because if you don’t, you’ll regret it. _ Viktor’s not sure if it’s impressive or sad that Yuuri managed to convince him, the skater with convictions of steel. It doesn’t matter either way, and he steps out on the ice one final time.

His fans don’t know,  _ Yuri _ doesn’t know, it’s a secret between him and Yuuri that he doesn’t plan on sharing until his blades leave the rink.

He can barely see the wall on the other side of the rink, it’s such a blur.  _ One month, _ the voice in the back of his head whispers.  _ You only have one month. _ It’s that voice that pushes him to skate to the center and stills, arms relaxed and loose at his sides and head bowing downwards.  _ Stay Close to Me.  _ It’s less of a routine and more of a statement; his greatest routine, the end of a legacy. He wonders if Yuuri is already crying. He said he wouldn’t, but he’s still an emotional little  _ kobuta-chan _ , in the best way.

None of that matters, however, as the music starts and he feels his breath shudder. It shouldn’t matter, the way his eyesight wavers in front of him, but paranoia still strikes deep within him. He closes his eyes, feels and hears and smells the ice underneath him, but the darkness scares him, so he opens his eyes yet again.

The blurriness of the rink just makes it worse.

Despite his nerves, he lands his quad Lutz perfectly, and goes into the transition for his quadruple flipm his signature move, the one thing he can’t mess up-

_ This is how the world will look like for the next month, while you wait for the inevitable. Everything you see will be in shades of spins and blurs. Nothing will stop for you, nothing will change. Do you see this, Viktor? This is your future. _

_ - _ and the world tilts and spins around him, making him lose his mental grounding. 

The next thing he knows, the tip of his blade hits ice at a  _ very _ wrong angle, and there’s a collective gasp from the stands as he falls sideways, not bothering to catch himself and instead letting the ice catch him. Almost immediately, there’s a black and beige blur coming towards him from the wall - Yuuri? Yuri? He can’t tell - and shouting his name - no, it’s  _ definitely _ Yuuri.

He figures, though, that it doesn’t matter. Tears start to well up, tears that he never granted permission to fall, but he doesn’t stop them, letting them roll away just like his eyesight. Even as Yuuri helps him off the ice in dead silence, he’s a ragdoll, not paying attention to anything except for the fact that his eyes had betrayed him. That the  _ ice _ had betrayed him.

A sneer in his mind blames Yuuri.  _ So much for a grand finale. _ He pushes it away.

Another voice blames him in contempt.  _ You knew you were too weak. You should have stopped. You should have quit while you were ahead. You’re a failure. _

That one, he doesn’t have the strength to deny.

* * *

 

Viktor Nikiforov had three faces.

Now, the world sees just one.


End file.
